Transferable Skills
by Snape's Nightie
Summary: Death Eaters don't just learn how to torture and kill, you know. Pointless drabble featuring young Snape, Dumbledore and Voldemort. No slash


Disclaimer: It all belongs to Mrs Murray. She deserves every penny she gets!

Severus Snape had been a teacher for six months, and he was determined to be good at it. The day he had crawled, tainted and ashamed through the school gates, Dumbledore had refused to mete out the punishment they both knew he deserved, preferring to give him a totally unexpected shot at redemption, and he was going to make absolutely sure he did not let the old man down. His potions lessons were immaculately planned and executed, and additional duties were attacked with a vigour which made Professor McGonagall nod with approval, and Mr Filch rub his hands in delight.

He was conscious of being the youngest current member of staff, one of the youngest ever, in fact, and was inclined to be more formally dressed and more properly mannered than the others as if to compensate for the fact that some of the older students remembered his own schooldays. From the outset, he had quashed any attempts at over-familiarity from them, and by the end of the second week of term word had spread that anyone taking liberties because of his youth would be in more trouble than they could handle.

He tended to avoid socialising with his new colleagues. This was partly because he was still nervous of the people who had assigned him detentions and interrupted his fights with the Fearsome Foursome just a few years earlier, and partly because he was not a very sociable person. He was not sure if any of them suspected the Headmaster's real reasons for hiring such an inexperienced young man, but the fact that most of his former schoolmates were in Azkaban or worse must surely raise some questions in their minds. He would have been loathe to admit it as a teenager, but he now knew that the Hogwarts staff were seldom as stupid as they looked.

The morning meeting was over, and the witches and wizards were beginning to leave the staff room in little groups, talking and laughing together. Severus gathered up his notes and had glided across the room to check his pigeonhole before heading back to his dungeon lair, when he noticed that Dumbledore was still in his seat, carefully rotating his right shoulder which gave a series of sharp clicks. Glancing around, Snape saw that no one else had noticed the small show of discomfort. In fact, they had all dispersed.

Tentatively stepping forward, he wondered how to broach the subject, before settling on;

"Are you in pain, Headmaster?"

The old man looked a little started, as though his mind had been miles away. The blue eyes shone benevolently at Snape.

"Headmaster?" he echoed, smiling at his protégé, who flushed pink and cleared his throat.

"Er…A...Albus," he managed.

"That wasn't so hard, was it, Severus?" the grin was kindly meant, but rather irritating nonetheless. "When you get to my age, aches and twinges are part of daily life. This shoulder is a tad stiff, that's all. Nothing to complain about."

Severus frowned at him, weighing up two courses of action. He could return to his rooms and a book of cryptic crossword puzzles which Filius had received for his birthday and immediately passed on to him ("my mind just does not _work_ that way, dear chap, I'm sure you will be able to enjoy them!"), or… It would be a very small favour, costing no real effort on his part. And he was permanently indebted to Dumbledore, after all. He placed his papers on one of the tables and walked behind the headmaster's chair, placing a long and supple hand at a certain angle on the errant shoulder and squeezing firmly.

Albus gasped. It was agony for a second, but then something seemed to pop into place. Snape switched to using both hands, kneading the stiff muscles until the tension relaxed and the most powerful wizard in the world slumped backwards with a groan of relief.

"Better?" he asked quietly. Dumbledore turned and stared at him in undisguised amazement.

"Yes," he chuckled. "For the first time in years, it's much better. Where did you learn to do this?" Severus switched his attention to the other shoulder, eliciting another moan of enjoyment.

"I am not certain you want to know," he murmured darkly. The two men regarded each other silently for a few seconds, Albus' mouth finally falling open in disbelief.

"Riddle?" he gaped. Severus nodded.

"He was an uptight person," he confided rather nervously, eyes flicking to each corner as though discussing the Dark Lord's muscletone might well conjure him in the midst of the deserted staff room. "All that cursing could make him very tense."

"I don't know why that surprises me so," frowned the older man. "I am the one who constantly reminded everyone that our opponent was only human. And you would massage his shoulders, after battles and such?"

"Yes," he answered simply.

Albus was curious, but accepted the younger man's reluctance to discuss his previous life. He held his tongue, enjoying the manipulations as he pondered the dynamic of Riddle's now-defunct organisation. The day Severus had decided to defect, he had been amazed to hear how structured the Death Eater ranks had been – each member responsible for certain areas, from following the movements of a particular auror, to the cleanliness of Nagini's lair. If an operative was killed, their duties were immediately redistributed amongst the others. The arrival of the new spy had brought hope to the Order of the Phoenix, but an element of well-concealed dismay. They were not facing some ramshackle gang of disaffected young rebels, but a highly-trained army, gathering strength every day. It was hard to say who had had the upper hand before that Halloween night when Voldemort made his first faux-pas in years.

Stretching experimentally, the headmaster was delighted to find that aches he never knew he'd had were now gone.

"You are a wizard of many talents, Severus," he complimented the younger man, who flushed again and gathered his notes.

"The Dark Lord went to great lengths to train me properly," he murmured, with a sharp glint of defiance in his shining black eyes. "He would be so unhappy that you are the one to benefit from all his hard work."

Albus laughed, unable to disagree.

…….

Many years later…

"Severus," said Dumbledore, turning to Snape, "You know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready . . . if you are prepared?"

"I am," said Snape, who looked significantly paler than normal.

"Then I shall wish you the best of luck," said Dumbledore, and he watched, with the merest trace of apprehension on his wrinkled face, as Snape swept wordlessly out of the door.

As he reached the boundaries of the castle estates, he took a deep, steadying breath and let it out. The Dark Mark prickling all year, Karkarof's constant indiscretions, Moody's taunts. Then, even more horrific revelations. Little Barty Crouch alive and in the school all this time, Diggory dead, the Dark Lord resurrected. The peace of the last few years had shattered in a single day. The cycle was beginning again. He touched the burning mark on his arm and disapparated.

Voldemort was sitting in an armchair, with Nagini's head resting in his lap. Pettigrew had apparently dropped a goblet of some clear liquid at the sound of Severus' arrival and was now glancing nervously around him, as though expecting some kind of trouble. Voldemort raised an eyebrow.

"Well, well," he hissed. "Look who it isss, Wormtail!"

"My Lord," grovelled Snape, dropping to his knees.

"Your Lord, Ssseveruss?" The irritation was apparent in Voldemort's voice, despite his relaxed posture. "If I am still your Lord, perhaps you would explain why you are three hours late in responding to my summonsss? You were not pleased to find that I had returned? You no longer care for me?"

"Forgive me, Master," began Snape, then swallowed on remembering all the times he had heard those words from a prostrate figure kneeling before the Dark Lord. Nothing pleasant ever followed. He forced himself to continue, knowing his life depended on his eloquence over the next few minutes. "I believed that Your Lordship would find it useful to have a faithful servant in the inner circle of Dumbledore. Thus I pandered to the old fool's whims, feigning outrage at the wonderful developments of the evening, until I was able to slip away and return to your glorious dark presence, my Lord."

There was a silence, during which Snape dared not raise his eyes. Every heartbeat pounded in his ears, as Voldemort refrained from answering. He continued, going for broke.

"Even now, Master, he is reassembling the Order of the Phoenix in a pathetic attempt to fight us!"

"What?" snarled Riddle, letting the iciness drop as his curiosity sparked. "Those old relicsss?"

"And some new ones, my Lord," he added, helpfully.

"Who!" roared Voldemort, grabbing Severus' robes and yanking him up so their faces were level. "Who dares to ssstruggle against my power!"

"I will find out, Master," Snape spat. "Weasleys, for a start. The new brood have grown during my Lord's absence. I have taught them all, and know their puny Griffindor weaknesses." He reassured himself that was all right, he had given nothing away – the red-headed family would make no secret of their defiance. The Dark Lord would have figured that one out on his own. Voldemort released his grip, staring thoughtfully into the distance. Snape's stomach and intestines seemed to have started an unruly game of knock-about quidditch as the silence stretched out, broken only by Wormtail shuffling rattily from foot to foot behind them.

"It seems that your current position brings you a good deal of knowledge, oh slippery Head of the Ssserpent Houssse," the potions master did not move, correctly guessing that the question had been rhetorical. "How useful that you are considered a friend of my most powerful enemy, and living in close quarters with the flower of wizarding youth. Not to mention your prowess with potionsss. Unfortunately, it took Wormtail an age to successfully brew the calming draught which is now sssoaking into the floorboardsss."

"Griffindors!" tutted Snape. Voldemort grinned, placing a spidery finger beneath Snape's chin to raise the sallow face so their eyes could meet.

"They are weak," he sneered, red eyes glittering.

"Your great power will defeat them, Master," Snape crawled unashamedly.

"How do you like my new body, Ssseverus?" The Dark Lord slipped off his outer robe and did a twirl, apparently satisfied with the excuses, and his new spy.

"Magnificent!" gushed Snape, relief flooding through him as he realised he would survive the meeting. He stretched out a hand and rested it lightly on one of the new shoulders. "But so much tension already, my Lord!" he exclaimed. "Such knots!"

"Potter!" Voldemort grimaced, by way of explanation. Not acting for a moment, Snape spat violently on the ground, deliberately too close to Pettigrew, who jumped back with an un-Death Eateresque squeak.

"Potters! Master, I curse them all!" he yelled. Voldemort pouted and nodded, now very pleased to have fought his initial instinct of murdering the feisty teacher on the spot for lateness. He shook away a pleasant but unbidden image of Snape using cruciatus on the blasted boy-who-lived instead of detention. Some fabulous opportunities were coming his way.

"Come, my poisonous viper," he sat back down, beckoning the black-haired wizard. "Let us see if your skills are still as fresh as your hatred!"

Severus rubbed carefully at the Dark Lord's shoulders, smirking at the feeling of déjà vu as he slumped backwards, groaning in exactly the same way Dumbledore always did. Those two master manipulators had much in common, he thought to himself. Their masseur, for a start. His role would be a subtle one – not for him the heroics of the Griffindor duellists, or the headline-seeking glory of the aurors.

There were more ways than one to fight a war.

…….

A/N: Pointless, but a fun little diversion to stop me counting the minutes until tomorrow, I thought! Love to hear your opinion!


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